


Executive Toy

by glitterburn (orphan_account)



Category: Dong Bang Shin Ki
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-17
Updated: 2012-04-17
Packaged: 2017-11-03 19:59:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/385336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/glitterburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A good secretary should anticipate his boss’s every need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Executive Toy

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt ‘boss/secretary’ in diagon’s Twelve Months of HoMin challenge.

Yunho wakes up and comes face to face with Happy the Rhinopillar. The plushie’s big beaming smile confuses him for a moment, and then he sits up with a start. Jetlag swings around his head, the dizziness stretching and quivering. Sunlight is pouring through the panoramic windows of his office, but his body clock is telling him it’s the middle of the night. He doesn’t even know what time zone his head is in. East coast USA, perhaps, though he’d stopped in Helsinki and again in Munich, and then he was in New Delhi, and finally he’d spent a couple of hours in Shanghai.

He rubs both hands over his face. Ugh, he’s drooled on Happy again. Gross. He really needs to stop using the Rhinopillar as a pillow. There’s a perfectly good couch on the other side of his office, with a perfectly good nest of cushions and even a nice fluffy blanket if he needs to take a nap, but somehow Yunho always finds himself asleep at his desk.

Not that he makes a habit of falling asleep at his desk, but still. He yawns, cuddles Happy to his chest, tucks his chin on the Rhinopillar’s head, and blinks at the line-up of pocket toy prototypes he’d brought back with him from the factory in China. The Rhinopillar, Octopig, Giraffopede, Squireel and Meerdeer are the most popular virtual pets from Mash-Up Monsters, the educational social networking MMOG site he’d created a few years ago and which now has seventy million registered users worldwide and a market value of two hundred million US dollars. 

He picks up the Giraffopede and activates it. It wobbles across the desk towards its friends and chirrups at them. If all the toys were switched on they’d have a conversation, and he’d be able to talk to them, too. Mash-Up Monsters have their own language, one he’d developed with the help of child psychologists, and when the toys go into full production, they’ll be able to cross-reference Mash-Up language with their owners’ native tongues and provide a fully interactive learning experience.

Even his exhaustion can’t dent his enthusiasm. Yunho activates all the toys and sets them chattering to one another. The Meerdeer seems a little shy, so he places it next to the Squireel. The Giraffopede takes a walk off the side of his desk and flails around on the carpet. Yunho reaches down and retrieves it, puts it beside the Octopig. The little Rhinopillar has wandered over to Happy and is bumping against it as if it recognises its big brother.

Yunho smiles at the toys. He’s so proud he could burst. All the long hours, the endless travelling, the jetlag, the lack of a social life and the constant nagging fear that he’s not quite good enough—it all fades when he looks at his cute little Mash-Up Monsters making friends with one another. He can’t wait to launch these toys and bring delight to tens of thousands of children.

He yawns again and turns off the prototypes, arranges them around Happy at the head of his desk, and then drags his laptop towards him. A glance at the clock in the bottom right hand corner of the screen tells him he’s been asleep for about forty minutes. Yunho stretches in his chair, moaning a little at how good it feels, then turns his attention to work. 

His secretary has sent the minutes of the first three meetings they attended today. Yunho can’t even remember what happened in those meetings. Thank God he has Changmin, who is not only shit-hot at taking notes and typing them up and arranging them all logically, but also just shit-hot in general. Another email is from Donghae, his closest friend and the head of the software programming team that does all of the clever stuff to turn Yunho’s ideas into reality. The rest are from clients and investors and potential investors. 

Except for one. There’s an email amongst all the others that has no subject line, which is unusual in itself. It doesn’t have the sender’s name, either. Weird. Maybe it’s spam. Yunho quite likes spam, as long as it’s not that guy in Nigeria again. At least five games on the Mash-Up Monsters site were inspired by spam, so he clicks on the email.

_You left your watch in conference room 3B. You shouldn’t be so careless._

Yunho frowns at the message. No signature. It’s not from a company email address, either. He glances at his wrist, which is indeed minus his watch. It’s a bad habit he has, taking his watch off whenever he goes into a meeting. Donghae always says he doesn’t need to time the proceedings because Changmin does that. Ever since Changmin started working here, their meetings have never run over and have always been on point. But that’s not why Yunho likes to take his watch off. He’s not timing things; he’s trying to forget time, to signify that the creative process and a workable solution is more important than the length of time it takes to achieve those goals. Or so he likes to think, anyway.

He looks at the email. _Thank you_ , he types in reply, then pauses, staring at the second sentence. It digs at him a little, so he adds, _I’m not careless. Just forgetful. And I have jetlag._ That sounds rude and abrupt. He thinks some more and writes: _But thank you all the same._

Wondering why the mystery writer couldn’t just send a message through the company email, Yunho gets up to fetch his watch. He opens his office door and pauses for a moment, looking around the large, well lit open-plan space. The main office area is divided into sections. Over to the left is where the games testing takes place. Donghae hired a Chinese-Canadian exchange student as a paid intern, and Henry sends dozens of excitable emails every day detailing his opinions of the games and site design.

The office next to Yunho’s is supposed to be for Donghae, but he prefers to occupy a cubicle on one side of the open-plan area so he can keep an eye on the software team. Yunho thinks this actually means ‘so he can hit on attractive staff members who walk past’.

Speaking of attractive staff members... Yunho glances at Changmin, who’s talking on the phone as he searches through the contents of a box file. Yunho had hired him as the antithesis of his previous secretary, who had disapproved of anything computer-related and was fond of telling everyone that online games stunted a child’s emotional growth and that concepts such as the Rhinopillar were dangerous because susceptible children might believe that such animals really existed. When Yunho proposed a spin-off series of games and toys based on Burgess Shale creatures, the secretary quit citing religious differences. Until then, Yunho had had no idea that his secretary was such a devout Creationist.

Changmin is completely different. He’s beautiful, for a start, and buttoned-up and starchy with a mind like a steel trap and a mouth like sin and cheekbones that could bend light. He’s terrifyingly organised and always impeccably turned out. Once Yunho had gently reminded him that the company’s dress code was casual, and Changmin had fixed his big dark eyes on Yunho and nodded and came into work the next day with his collar unbuttoned and a cravat around his neck.

Yunho hasn’t admitted this to anyone, but he created the Meerdeer with Changmin in mind. Always watchful and cautious, swaying about the office on coltish legs that go on forever, yet capable of ferocity when crossed. The number of times Yunho has overheard Changmin on the telephone berating some poor sod for a late delivery of staples and paperclips, or haranguing deficient airline staff or churlish hotel receptionists.

Changmin is very, very good at his job. Which is a shame, because if he was less good at his job, Yunho would have asked him out months ago.

Conference room 3B is up on the mezzanine floor. Yunho finds his watch exactly where he’d left it. He makes his way back across the office, yawning and slow-witted, and hesitates beside the drinks machine. Maybe caffeine will wake him up, or give him enough energy to get through the next few hours. He presses a couple of buttons and leans against the machine while it chugs and whirrs. Next thing he knows, Donghae is shaking him by the shoulder and holding up a waxed paper cup of a random hot beverage.

“Dude, you fell asleep waiting for the machine to deliver your latte.” Donghae peers at him, shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have come in today. We can cope without you for five minutes, you know.”

Yunho takes the latte and manages a tired smile. “I know. But...”

“Workaholics. Will never understand them.” Donghae slings an arm around him as they saunter across the office. “Hey, while you’re half asleep and jetlagged, I’m totally going to take advantage and get you to sign off on my expense account.”

“Nice try, bro.” Yunho shrugs out of Donghae’s grasp, slopping coffee down the side of the cup. “All expenses need to go across Secretary Shim’s desk before I sign them.”

“Dude.” Donghae pretends to look aggrieved. “Changmin gets all hardcore when I give him my expenses. I have to justify every little thing. It’s like being interrogated or something. It’s bad for my rep, man.”

Yunho tries not to laugh. “Well, there was that time when you tried to claim an escort’s services on company expenses...”

“Bro, not fair!” Donghae makes a woeful face. “That was just a joke.”

“Sure it was.” Yunho pauses by Donghae’s cubicle and holds out his hand. “C’mon, give me your expenses.”

“Aww, this is why I love you, man. You’re the best boss.” Donghae pulls several stapled sheets from a drawer. “Thanks, dude.”

“No problem.” Yunho takes the paperwork and drops it onto Changmin’s desk. “Secretary Shim, here are Lee Donghae’s expenses. Please go over them carefully.”

“I totally hate you, Jung Yunho!” Donghae shouts across the office. 

Changmin purses his perfect, gorgeous lips and flicks through the expense sheets. He swivels in his chair and reaches for another box file, places it on the adjacent section of his L-shaped desk and riffles through the papers. His position has made his suit jacket ride up at the back as he leans forward, so Yunho casually sprawls across the desk and reads the weekly planner upside down, using this as cover for a bit of surreptitious staring at Changmin’s ass. 

“Are you checking for anything specific, sir?”

“Uh,” Yunho says, taking a sip of his latte as Changmin straightens and turns in his seat, “I was just wondering when the video conference with the CCTV-14 people was taking place.”

“Next Wednesday at ten o’clock.” Changmin doesn’t even have to look at the planner. “I sent you an email about it.”

“You know I’m bad with emails.” Yunho gives him an apologetic smile. “You have to tell me.”

“I’ll put a Post-It on the Rhinopillar to remind you.”

Yunho wrinkles his nose. “You can’t do that. Happy won’t like it.”

Changmin gives him a droll look and picks up the phone. “Yes, sir. I’ll remind you verbally, then. Now if you’ll excuse me...”

Thus dismissed, Yunho goes back into his office and finishes his coffee. He waggles the laptop mouse and his screensaver vanishes, revealing fifteen new emails, mostly on the company mailing list. Changmin is always telling him to unsubscribe from the list because it’s not his place to worry about low toner in the photocopier or a broken lock in the female staff toilets. Yunho keeps himself on it, though, because he likes knowing what’s going on. Sometimes there’s a flurry of gossip or a conversation that should have been private but accidentally got cross-posted. Also he likes reading the lunch order when it goes around, and occasionally he’ll ask for something, and then Changmin will come in looking cross and say something like “Sir, you don’t need to place your lunch order through the general list, you can just call me and I will fetch it for you”, and Yunho always responds that Changmin is so busy and he didn’t want to disturb him, and Changmin looks irritated-amused and says, “But sir, this is my job,” or, more recently, “You’re impossible, sir.”

Yunho flicks through the emails, reads an exchange between Henry and Donghae that seems to be rather cryptic— _Dude i did it LOLOL_ , Henry wrote, to which Donghae had replied with _LMAO dude_ —but that could refer to anything. Sandwiched in between a discussion about the height and width of the cheese plant in reception and whether it was breaching health and safety regulations was a reply to the email he’d sent earlier.

_I worded that all wrong. You’re careless with yourself._

This gives Yunho pause. He types back: _What do you mean?_

Whoever is sending these emails is still logged on, because the reply comes back straight away: _You need someone to look after you. Someone to take care of you._

A little frisson creeps up Yunho’s spine. He clicks on the email header to check the sender ID. It’s an account on a generic web-based email provider and the name is a jumble of letters and numbers. Nothing meaningful, nothing that could give him a clue as to the identity of his correspondent. It could be anyone. He thinks it’s someone having a laugh, but maybe it isn’t. It could be Mrs Kang in Accounts, who always fusses over him and brings him homemade pickles and kimchi, but maybe it isn’t. It could be Mr Cheon the janitor, but maybe it isn’t.

He responds: _I don’t need anyone._

 _You do_ , says the reply. _You run yourself ragged looking out for everyone else but you never take care of yourself. You need to relax. You need a firm hand to guide you._

Yunho shifts in his seat and wonders if it’s wrong to get turned on by the words ‘firm hand’. This whole thing is so silly. It’s probably Donghae messing around as revenge for the thing with the expense sheets. Yunho is so sure it’s a prank that he plays along with it: _Sounds like you want to punish me._

Computer silence for a while, and then: _It wouldn’t be punishment._

 _What, then?_ Yunho giggles as he types. _You’d make sure I enjoyed it?_

_You’re misunderstanding me._

Yunho feels bad. Emails don’t have expressional tones, but this one looks disappointed all the same. He pushes the mouse pointer around the screen for a bit and then responds: _I’m sorry. I thought you were just playing a stupid game._

Nothing for a long time. Yunho waits for a few minutes then attends to a couple of other emails on work-related issues, but his mind keeps clicking back to the exchange with his unknown correspondent. It’s interfering with his focus. Eventually he re-reads the whole conversation again, and as he reaches the end, a new message pops up.

_Would you like to play a game with me?_

He hesitates for a moment. Curiosity wins out over caution. He replies: _Yes._

_Good boy._

A kick of lust floors him. Just seeing those two words in black and white wakes something eager and impulsive inside him. Hands shaking just slightly, he types: _What do I have to do?_

The reply is immediate. _Come to work tomorrow without underwear. I want you to wear the cream trousers. The tight ones._

Yunho lets out his breath. It doesn’t seem like a big deal, and he’s a little disappointed. Regardless, he’s agreed to it; he may as well see it through. He writes: _Okay, I’ll do it._

A pause, and then the response: _I know you will._

* * *

Yunho spends the whole of the next day utterly self-conscious about his lack of underwear. The cream-coloured trousers seem tighter than usual, and he’s sure people are staring at him. In fact, he’s positive that the receptionists both checked out his junk when he entered the foyer and said hello this morning. And it’s not just the receptionists, either. Henry had given him a weird look in the washroom, and Changmin had seemed vaguely startled, his gaze dipping down for a split-second when Yunho had stopped in front of his desk to ask about a report on financial projections. Only Donghae didn’t seem to notice, but then Donghae often spoke about the benefits of going commando so maybe he assumed that every guy walked around without underwear.

There’s no email from his unknown correspondent until lunchtime.

 _You did as I asked_ , Unknown Correspondent writes. _I’m delighted._

Relief washes over him. Yunho hadn’t realised he was so tense about this. He’s not sure why the opinion of some faceless pervert is suddenly so important to him, but it is. Maybe it’s because Yunho always likes to do his best in everything. He likes making people happy. Even if they are faceless perverts. _It’s uncomfortable_ , he types.

 _Of course it is_ , comes the reply. _You’re on display for me. Everyone is talking about it. They’re all fantasising about spreading you across your desk and freeing your gorgeous huge cock from those trousers. They’re all wondering why you did it, but I’m the only one who knows._

Arousal squirms around inside Yunho. Ugh, he’s so tragic, getting hot over something so ridiculous, but he can’t help himself. He types: _I did it for you._

_Yes, you did. You’re such a good boy._

The praise goes to his head. Yunho pulls Happy towards him and buries his face against the plushie’s soft body, quivering.

* * *

The next few days bring a flurry of commands from Unknown Correspondent, or UC as Yunho has started to think of him. He supposes UC could be a woman. Mash-Up Monsters has plenty of female computer techs and designers who could’ve set this up, but Yunho hopes it’s a man who’s doing this to him. If UC _is_ a woman, then she seems to like the idea of him getting it on with another guy, because for a while UC’s orders involve him touching several of his male employees, starting with Donghae. It's never anything inappropriate; just the kind of casual, friendly gestures he usually makes—a hand clasp, a fist bump, a playful push—and yet now it's imbued with a meaning it never had before.

UC never asks him to touch any of the female staff, which is a relief in many ways, but it also makes him think that UC knows his preferences. And he’s not exactly out and proud at work, which narrows the field.

Unless he’s really obvious. Which could be the case. He often thinks he’s really subtle and then it turns out that he’s not at all.

The cruellest command was the one that UC delivered yesterday morning: _I forbid you to touch yourself. No jerking off without my permission._ This is especially bad as Yunho had started getting himself off every night fantasising about what UC might order him to do next. His daydreams ran the gamut from attending a board meeting and being forced to service all the executives on his knees, to imagining himself stripped naked and shoved up against his office window while someone fucked into him from behind, or—his favourite—he delivers a motivational speech all wrong and Changmin makes him bend over the desk and spanks him and tells him he’s a disgrace and needs a lot of correction.

The latter scenario made him come really, really hard. 

Yunho doesn’t know if he can survive the rest of the week without jerking off, especially when he keeps thinking about his Strict Changmin fantasy. So it’s incredibly ironic that when he looks at his work emails on his phone while he eats breakfast, the one from UC says: _Stroke Secretary Shim’s leg when you’re in the lift together._

Yunho gets a little fluttery at the thought of it and then thinks this’ll be the easiest order he’s followed, because usually he arrives at the office building at the same time as Changmin and they ride the lift together with at least five other people, and when the lift is that full it’ll be no trouble at all to brush up against someone and give them a completely accidental little caress.

Yeah, easy. Piece of cake.

Except it’s not, because when he gets downtown there’s a delivery van in his parking space and he has to drive around for five minutes until the interloper leaves, and when he sprints into the foyer it’s just in time to see the lift doors close. He has to stand by the gigantic cheese plant and make polite chat with the receptionists, who always seem to stare at his crotch these days and never at his face, until the lift comes back down.

When he reaches his office, Yunho picks up Happy and squishes the Rhinopillar hard as he tries to think of an excuse to get Changmin back into the lift. They have two meetings scheduled for today, according to the note Changmin left on his desk. Both are on this floor. No lift necessary. Short of setting off the fire alarm, which will render the lift out of bounds anyway, Yunho can’t think how best to carry out UC’s order. 

He waits until midday, calls Changmin, and asks him to go out and pick up some sushi for lunch. Changmin wants to know exactly what type of sushi he should buy and if Yunho has any preference as to which shop it comes from. Yunho almost suggests they go and buy it together, but that would look too suspicious, so he just says “Buy anything, I’m sure I’ll like it”, and cuts the call. 

After a few minutes, he opens his office door and peers out. Changmin isn’t at his desk. Success! Yunho heads towards the lift, but Henry calls out, wanting to talk to him about adding extra levels onto the Hippeep game, and then Mrs Kang from Accounts starts telling him about her cousin’s sister-in-law’s five-year-old who loves Mash-Up Monsters, and Yunho begins to fret that Changmin will arrive back with the sushi and he’ll have missed his chance again.

Finally he gets into the lift and makes it down to the foyer without being collared by anyone else. The receptionists stare at the front of his trousers again so he turns his back and gives them the more unprepossessing view of his ass while he looks out of the window in search of Changmin and his lunch.

He waits ten minutes. This, added to the time he lost when Henry and Mrs Kang were talking to him, means that Changmin has been away from his desk for almost half an hour. Yunho wonders if there’s a queue at the shop. Or maybe Changmin is actually rolling the sushi himself. And catching the fish, too. 

Or—or maybe there’s been an accident. Yunho doesn’t like this thought. He paces around the foyer and wonders if he should call Changmin. Then he remembers he left his phone upstairs underneath Happy. Just as he’s deciding to ask the receptionists to call instead, Changmin pushes through the revolving doors and walks in. He’s carrying a paper bag with the logo of an upmarket sushi restaurant printed on the side, and he looks puzzled when Yunho hurries towards him.

“Sir, did something happen? Is there an emergency?”

“No. Nothing like that. I was...” Yunho casts around for some way to explain why he’s obviously hanging about in the foyer. “I was waiting. For my lunch. Because I’m hungry. You were gone for hours.”

Changmin frowns and checks his watch. “Thirty-six minutes, sir. I do apologise. I wanted the sushi to be freshly prepared for you.”

“Thanks.” Yunho sidles over to the lift and presses the call button.

Changmin gives him an odd look and murmurs “Thank you, sir” when Yunho stands aside and lets him enter the lift first. It’s just the two of them in there, and the lift seems huge and echoing. There’s no way to be subtle about this. Yunho leans close and looks into the bag. “What did you get?”

“Sayori, sesame tofu, sea cucumber, sakura rice mochi...” Changmin recites, and hands him the bag.

Yunho is so focused on his allotted task that he’s a bit slow with everything else. The bag slips through his fingers and drops onto the floor. They both go to retrieve it. Yunho is faster and finds himself crouched down with his head level with Changmin’s thighs. He blinks. This is it. Now’s his chance. He grabs the bag with one hand and quickly, almost imperceptibly, runs his free hand up Changmin’s calf to the back of his knee.

Changmin freezes. Draws in an audible breath.

Aw, crap. Yunho freezes too, scrumpling the top of the paper bag.

“Sir.” Changmin’s voice is low and husky, and Yunho glances up at him, hoping he doesn’t look too guilty.

Changmin is staring down at him, cool and composed and so fucking _tall_. “I don’t think that’s very appropriate, sir, do you?”

Yunho almost whimpers. He should not get turned on so easily. It’s because he’s not allowed to jerk off, that’s what’s done it. And it’s the way Changmin says _sir_. Oh shit, it’s hot, ridiculously so, and now he’s hard, god _damn_ he’s so hard he could drive nails through concrete just because Changmin said one little word and looked down at him. And then Yunho goes hot and cold with realisation, because it’s not so much the ‘sir’ that did it; it’s the fact that he’s on his knees and Changmin is standing up. Standing above him. Over him.

Oh God, this is bad. In a good way.

“Sir,” Changmin says. He sounds concerned. “Sir, are you all right?”

“Um?” Yunho realises he’s still on his knees. This will look so weird if the lift stops right now.

The lift stops and the doors roll open.

Yunho bolts upright. This time, the sushi falls out of the bag and splats onto the floor. He stares at it. “Crap. Oh... crap.”

Changmin shakes his head, sighs, and walks out into the office, leaving Yunho scrabbling after the mess of his lunch. 

* * *

Next day, Yunho wakes up with a raging hard-on and the lingering memory of a dream in which he’d gone into the office naked and Changmin had stroked him with feathers and rabbit fur while reading out the findings of the latest focus group on the Mash-Up Monsters cartoon series. Of course, now he’s awake he can’t remember what the focus group thought of the show. 

He definitely didn’t come in his dream, he knows that much. He wants to come now, wants to jack off hard and fast, but he’d promised UC that he wouldn’t touch himself and he tries very hard to keep his promises.

 _Very_ and _hard_ being the operative words.

He rolls over and traps the duvet between his legs. Humps it a little. Wonders if it’s cheating if he gets himself off rubbing against something rather than doing it by hand. Technically he’s not touching himself. Yeah, that’s his excuse and—

His phone beeps with an email alert. Yunho groans and squirms across the bed to look at the message. It’s from UC: _You’ve been such a good boy I think you deserve a reward today._

Guilt pokes at Yunho as he thinks of how close he came to disobedience. He sits up and types hopefully: _Can I touch myself again?_

 _No_ , UC replies. _I’m going to touch you instead._

Oh God. Yunho has to throw the duvet off because even the lightest touch of anything over his erection right now is going to kill him. _Yes please_ he writes, and has to backspace a few times because he keeps hitting the keys in the wrong order.

 _Wear the white t-shirt with the deep v-neck_ , UC orders. _The one you wore to the Wiwaxia launch party._

Yunho stares at the screen. The launch party was five months ago. He hasn’t worn that t-shirt since. Not to work, anyway. _I don’t like wearing it_ he types, then deletes the sentence. He hasn’t had time to go to the gym for a couple of months now and he knows he’s put on a bit of weight, and when he gains weight it goes straight to his chest and things get kind of jiggly up there.

But if he refuses to wear the t-shirt, then UC won’t touch him, and he thinks he needs that more than he’s worried about his body issues.

 _Okay_ , he writes. _I’ll find it._

 _You’re my good boy_ , UC responds, and Yunho feels incredible.

He goes to the office in black jeans and with the requested t-shirt worn beneath a blazer. Yep, he’s definitely gained weight. The t-shirt is a lot tighter than it was five months ago, and the neckline slashes down to the middle of his chest, so it feels like there’s a lot of flesh on display. 

At least the receptionists don’t stare at his junk this morning.

It takes half an hour before UC sends him an email: _Stop hiding. Take the jacket off and come out here so I can see you._

Yunho shrugs out of his blazer immediately and hangs it over the back of his chair. He likes that he doesn’t need to think in this situation. With UC, the decisions are made for him. Small, silly decisions, maybe; but nonetheless, it seems to make things easier. It’s not like his job is particularly stressful—not like being a surgeon or a stock market trader—but since this... thing with UC began, he’s felt a lot lighter in his mind. Less stagnant.

He finishes reading the rest of his work emails and then goes out into the main office, wandering around casually so UC can see that he’s obeyed his instructions. Henry flags him down and they talk about the new Giraffopede mathematics mini-game, and then Yunho calls Donghae over to discuss a couple of issues. Donghae swaggers across, takes one look at Yunho’s t-shirt and says, “Dude, lay off the pies, yeah?”

Yunho feels his face burn. He can’t think of a snappy retort quick enough so he gives Donghae a playful shove instead and turns the conversation to the mini-game. While Henry demonstrates the problem and Donghae watches, Yunho steps back and crosses his arms over his chest. He wishes he was still wearing the blazer.

“Think I know how to make that more stable.” Donghae jots down notes on one of the beer mats Henry uses in place of Post-Its. He straightens, looks at the way Yunho’s standing, and grins. “Bro, don’t fold your arms like that. It’s giving you cleavage.”

“You’re such a dick.” Yunho aims a pretend kick at Donghae’s ass. “Fix my Giraffopedes before I sack you for gross incompetence.”

“Dude, I own a quarter of the company!”

“You’re still a dick.” Yunho hustles Donghae back to his workspace then returns to his office, pausing by Changmin’s desk on the way. “Any post?”

“Sir.” Changmin’s gaze flickers down to Yunho’s chest for just a moment before he picks up a couple of letters and hands them over. “These are the only things of any importance that need a reply in the next few days. I would appreciate, however, if you could give them your attention sooner rather than later.”

“I’ll look at them now. Thank you.” Yunho takes the letters into his office, scanning each one and reading the annotations Changmin has made in the margins. He sorts them into order of reply and props them against Happy’s body, then goes to check his email.

There’s a message from UC waiting for him, time-stamped seventeen minutes ago: _God, you’re magnificent._

It’s such an opposite reaction to the one he got from Donghae that it almost hurts. Yunho curls a hand into the neckline of his t-shirt and types with one finger: _At least I know you’re not Donghae._

The message comes back: _How do you know that?_

 _Because_ , Yunho replies, _if you wanted to take care of me the way you say you do, you wouldn’t laugh at me in one moment and then say nice things the next._

A pause, and then: _You’re right. I wouldn’t._

Yunho types: _So you’re not Donghae?_ He thinks about it, then deletes the question mark. He wants to sound certain.

_Does it matter who I am?_

The question makes Yunho pause. He’s not going to lie, he’ll be disappointed if UC turns out to be Mr Cheon the janitor or Mrs Kang in Accounts after all, but at the same time, he likes this, likes how it makes him feel. It’s weird, but he feels the way UC wants him to feel—cared for. He hadn’t expected that, but now he’s got it, he doesn’t want to lose it. If the price of that is UC’s continued anonymity, then right now Yunho is willing to go along with it.

It might be a different matter in the long term, though.

Drawing in a breath, Yunho writes: _It doesn’t matter who you are. I like what you do for me._

UC writes: _But do you understand why I’m doing it?_

Yunho thinks about this for several moments before replying: _At first I thought it was some sort of game. Even when I kind of knew you were being serious about it, it was still a game. The no underwear thing, and when you asked me to touch Donghae etc—I mean, I felt silly. It was sexy, too, but mainly it just felt like a game that I could walk away from whenever I wanted._

UC responds directly: _What made you change your mind?_

Yunho exhales, rubs at the back of his neck. He looks at Happy for moral support. The Rhinopillar grins back at him. _Yesterday_ , Yunho types, and then stares at the cursor for a while, trying to organise his thoughts. _When you asked me to touch Changmin and I was late, and I had to make up an excuse to send him out of the office just so I could get into the lift with him and do what you asked. That was difficult. I almost didn’t go through with it. And then I realised I *wanted* to go through with it. Not just because you’d told me to, but because I wanted to do it. And even though I dropped my lunch and he probably thinks I’m creepy and moronic now, I felt good afterwards. As good as I did when I first launched the company. Or when I first held the plushie Rhinopillar. Does that sound weird?_

He can’t do anything at all while he waits for the reply. His mouth is dry. He doesn’t usually open himself up like this, and he doesn’t even know why he’s doing it now. It must be because UC is faceless and doesn’t seem to judge him. UC asks things of him but doesn’t seem to want anything from him. Not anything material, anyway. He just... suggests, and Yunho follows those suggestions and feels good when he completes a task. In an odd sort of way, Yunho thinks he trusts UC. 

_It’s not weird_ , UC writes. _You always think about pleasing other people. You try to make them happy. You always look outwards. You’re always thinking about the future and how you could do better. You need to learn how to look at yourself today, right here and now, and you need to know that someone cares about you. That’s why we’re doing this. You need to know that I will look after you._

The message makes Yunho feel shaky and light-headed. He leans towards the screen, yearning. Before he can think better of it, he types: _Who are you?_

 _You’re so curious_ , UC replies. _Very well, then. Come and meet me._

* * *

The stock room is warm and dark. Yunho uses the light from his phone’s screen to navigate between the piled boxes of photocopier paper and acetates. Someone should really tidy up in here; it’s a complete mess. He treads on something and hears the crack of plastic casing. A pen, maybe. Just as soon as he’s finished his tryst with UC, he’s going to ask Changmin to get someone to sort this place out.

Yunho reaches the back of the room and checks UC’s emailed orders one more time: _Go to the stock room at exactly 3.34pm. Take your phone with you. Don’t put the light on. Go to the back and face the wall. Put your hands behind your head and clasp your fingers together. Don’t turn around when I come in. Don’t try to touch me. Don’t talk. Stay as quiet as you can. If you disobey any of my instructions, I will leave immediately._

Of course he should’ve known this wasn’t going to be easy. He hadn’t expected that UC would invite him for a drink or to dinner or anything as simple as that, but he’d thought there would be more than this furtive creeping about amongst the stationery. Although he has to admit that it feels kind of subversive, getting turned on by a stranger in his own stock room. 

He really hopes UC isn’t Mr Cheon the janitor. Or Mrs Kang.

The glow from his phone screen fades and he shoves it into his pocket. The darkness seems absolute now. He can’t see anything, not even the bare blocks of the wall in front of him. Distantly he can hear the whirr-clonk of the air con system in the main office. When he shifts position, his foot nudges against a box, which pushes into another box and starts a small landslide of what sounds like plastic file covers.

Yunho stands still and locks his hands behind his head as commanded. The air con clonks some more. He breathes in the smell of paper and cardboard. The minutes stretch out. He tries to calculate how long he’s been in here by counting the intervals between the noises from the air con. Maybe it’s five minutes. Perhaps closer to ten. It’s hard to tell, and he experiences a weird sort of disorientation, as if time is looping over and over.

Now he can smell different things. Not just paper but also the photocopier toner, a thin, slightly heady odour. And highlighter pens—he recognises that scent. There’s probably Tippex and glue sticks, too. If he stands here long enough, he might just get high on stationery products. The thought makes him quiver with a tic of nervous laughter, and he brings his elbows forward so his forearms press against the sides of his head, shutting out sound for a moment, and he takes a deep breath.

He can smell himself, cologne and skin and the slightest hint of sweat. With all these scents surrounding him, there’ll be no way he’ll be able to identify UC from smell alone. Yunho was kind of hoping that UC would wear some really obvious fragrance so he could run around the office later on and track him down, but he doubts UC would be that careless.

He relaxes back into position. Closes his eyes against the darkness and focuses on his breathing. The air con rumbles. On. Off. On. It’s soothing. Who knew the stationery cupboard could be such a relaxing place? He’ll have to come here more often. 

Yunho starts to sink into himself.

The door clicks open, snapping him out of the drift of his thoughts. He jerks his head up, keeps his gaze fixed ahead. There’s a faint stripe of light against the back wall, and then the door closes and everything’s dark again.

Silence. It lasts for a long time. Seventy-eight seconds. Yunho counts every one. He fights the urge to break position and turn around and reach out. He swallows the desire to say something. Sensation crawls all over him. He’s shaking. Oh God, UC hasn’t even touched him yet and he’s falling apart.

Footsteps, an eddy of air. UC kicks a box out of the way and presses up close behind him. Yunho draws in a breath. UC is definitely not Mrs Kang. Or any other woman. Oh yes, definitely a man. A tall man, too, which rules out Donghae one hundred percent but still leaves a few other possibilities—including Changmin. Fuck yeah, please be Changmin and please be strict. Yunho pushes back against UC’s crotch and shimmies a little, wanting to feel all of that lovely long, hard length against him.

UC makes a little huffing sound. Gleeful, Yunho wriggles again. This time UC steps back, grabs at his hip, and digs the ball of his thumb into the long muscle at the top of Yunho’s ass. God, it fucking _hurts_. He’s all tense there, and UC grinds his thumb deeper. Pain spears through Yunho and makes him arch forwards to escape the pressure.

Stupidly, it also makes him hard. His erection is straining against his jeans and it’s uncomfortable. He can’t move his hands from behind his head, so he can’t adjust his cock. Yunho doesn’t like UC anymore. Maybe if he can get closer to the wall he can try to rub against it. Or maybe he’ll fall over a box and sprain his dick, and wouldn’t that be the most embarrassing workplace accident ever.

UC puts both hands on Yunho’s hips, thumbs going underneath the hem of the t-shirt. He strokes Yunho’s waist, then slips his hands beneath the front of the t-shirt and strokes across Yunho’s belly. Yunho sucks in, then lets out his breath in a startled gasp when UC pinches him. So much for vanity. 

UC’s hands move, stroking, exploring. Yunho tries to keep still, but the caresses are very distracting. He straightens his spine and thrusts his chest out, hoping that UC will take the hint. The sudden movement sways him back against UC, and for a moment he feels UC’s hair brush against his clasped hands. He freezes, heart pounding and dread trickling through him. He’s disobeyed an instruction. He touched UC. He wants to protest— _it was an accident!_ —but already he can feel UC moving away. _No. No no no._ Yunho shakes his head, makes a tiny sound, but doesn’t speak. No point in compounding his error.

UC has retreated, but he hasn’t left the room. Yunho waits, his breathing erratic and his pulse bouncing and thudding in his ears. He can barely hear the clonk of the air con now; he’s so focused on being inside his own skin, so aware of UC standing just behind him. 

_Please_ , Yunho thinks. _Don’t go. Please touch me again._

And then UC is back with him, arms curling around Yunho’s waist, and they stand like that for a moment in a strange sort of embrace, and Yunho tries really, really hard not to move at all for fear of ruining it.

UC’s hands slide upwards. The t-shirt stirs over Yunho’s body. His skin tightens at the touch. Suddenly he’s ticklish, and a burst of hilarity threatens. He forces it back, tries to slow his breathing. It’s too fast, and his heartbeat has accelerated, too, and it feels too dark in here, too warm. He teeters on the edge of a very delicate sense of panic, torn between calling a halt to this encounter and letting it continue. Common sense tells him to stop as reality starts to intrude, and then UC splays his hands across Yunho’s chest and gives him a squeeze.

One more minute, Yunho decides. He’ll let this go on for one more minute.

UC pinches Yunho’s nipples through the t-shirt. Does it hard.

Lust arcs through him like an electric shock. He jolts back against UC, unable to stop the involuntary moan escaping his lips. He can almost _feel_ UC smiling, and then UC does it again. Pinch. Twist. Pull.

Yunho’s knees buckle. He’s trying so hard to keep silent but it’s impossible to stop the soft, low noise rolling out of him, an endless, helpless moan.

UC rubs up against him, humping his ass as he really goes to town on Yunho’s nipples. The pain is glorious, a sharp, fiery ache that sends streaks of pleasure straight to his dick. Oh yeah, he’d enjoy this so much more if he could touch himself. If only he could change the angle of his cock—but if he did that he’d go off like a rocket. Maybe it’s better to draw this out, make it last, even if he feels like he’s burning up. When he gasps for breath, he can smell himself, hot and aroused. He hopes UC likes him like this, because he’s feeling mighty fucking fine right now.

And then UC makes a noise. It’s muffled almost right away, but it sounds like a groan. UC claws his hands into Yunho’s chest, fingernails digging through the t-shirt, and then he gropes and squeezes and plucks at his nipples again, sharp and sudden, and at the same time UC kisses the back of his neck, and it’s so tender, so soft, that the contrast with what UC is doing to his tits drives Yunho over the edge.

“God,” Yunho breathes, desperate to vocalise some of what he’s feeling. “Yes. Yes,” and he comes in his jeans. Oh fuck, he’s just creamed himself and—and it’s warm and wet and oh God, he _did not_ just do that, oh _Christ_ , this is embarrassing.

UC licks from his nape up into his hairline. Yunho quivers and quivers. How much spunk does he have inside him anyway? It’s like a flood and he can’t stop it, and he’s glad it’s dark in here because his face is burning with shame.

Then UC’s touch glides down, and one hand closes over his half hard dick, and UC rubs his palm and fingers all over Yunho’s wet jeans. It feels dirty and wrong and so exciting, and then UC lets go of him and takes his hands away completely, and in the sudden silence Yunho hears a deep inhalation, and ohhh fuck, is UC actually _sniffing_ Yunho’s come on his hand? And—and then there’s a tiny wet noise, and Yunho can’t breathe, because surely UC is licking his damp hand, and that is just perverse.

Another moment of silence, and then UC moves away. Yunho hears his footsteps, then the squeak of the door handle. It opens, lets in a sliver of light, and then closes again.

Yunho exhales shakily, his legs still trembling, his skin prickling with sweat. He shuffles to one side of the room and leans against a shelf, pressing his overheated face to the cool metal. He stays there until his phone beeps.

 _You can come out now_ , says the message. _I am very pleased with you._

Yunho staggers towards the door, almost tripping over a box. He pauses, combs a hand through his hair to flatten where it must be sticking out at the back, and then opens the door of the stock room and peers out. It seems like a million miles between here and the safety of his office. He has to walk past all his employees with aching nipples and a lapful of come. 

Thank God he wore black jeans today.

* * *

 _You have so much potential_ , UC writes a few days later. _I want you to realise it all. Everything I ask of you, it’s for your own good. Think of it as an invitation to possibility. And because it’s an invitation, you don’t have to accept. Although I very much hope that you will._

Yunho puts down his breakfast and stares at the email. UC has made very few demands over the last couple of days. It felt like they’d taken a step backwards with a return to simple tasks of ‘wear this, do that’, and Yunho had wondered if UC had changed his mind and was trying to let him down gently after their stationery cupboard rendezvous. Now he realises that UC was making him wait, letting him stew until he was all tender and melting, and now—now he’s ready to jump at just about anything UC asks of him.

 _Bring a change of clothes to the office_ , UC tells him, so Yunho goes through his wardrobe and chooses two outfits. He and Donghae are giving a presentation to a foreign investor this evening, and so it’s not that odd to take a suit with him into work. Actually, he’s grateful that UC is offering up a distraction, because this presentation is a pretty big deal and he’s been thinking about it just as much as he’s been thinking about UC. Except mostly he’s been thinking about UC with his lizard brain and he’s had to put actual, non-pornographic thought into the presentation, and weirdly the push-pull between the two extremes has led him to drawing a whole host of new creatures to populate Mash-Up Monsters. 

By the time he gets into the office, his head is full of plans for a new Wiwaxia game and he barely acknowledges anyone as he rushes from the lift to his desk. He dumps his garment bag on the couch, sits down on the floor, and starts sketching the game’s different levels, then grabs another piece of paper and lists a bunch of questions he needs to answer to make this concept work before he can take it to the design team.

Changmin comes in and sets a cup of coffee on his desk. “Sir,” he says, “you’ll be much more comfortable over here.”

“Hmm?” Yunho looks up, realises he’s awash with sheets of paper. “Ah.” He gathers them together and gets to his feet. “ _Cambrian Explosion!_ ” he says. “What do you think of that for a name?”

“For Wiwaxia? I like it, sir. It sounds exciting.” Changmin sticks a yellow Post-It on the Rhinopillar’s head. Yunho yanks the note away without looking at it and jams it on his desk calendar instead.

“Tell Donghae I’d like to see him as soon as possible so we can go through the notes for this evening,” he says, continuing with his game sketches.

“Yes, sir.” Changmin goes over to the couch. “Shall I hang your suit for you, sir?”

“That’d be great, thanks.” Yunho stops, staring down at the papers spread across his desk. Ugh, this is all wrong. No one will want to play this game. It’s boring and level six is unnecessarily complicated. Maybe if he adds in another monster. Or maybe that’ll just make it even worse, and just how is he supposed to move the gameplay forward in a coherent manner? 

With a noise of frustration, Yunho screws up the page in front of him and lobs it across the room. He covers his face with his hands and sighs. Fuck, it’s not quite there. He can feel it at the back of his mind just waiting to hatch, but for now it’s teasing him, lying on a sun lounger in the Bahamas sipping a Mai Tai and waving at him.

“Sir.”

Yunho peeps out from between his fingers. Changmin is looking at him, big dark eyes wary and soulful and—and...

Changmin’s expression shutters. “Drink your coffee, sir. I’ll tell Mr Lee you wish to see him.”

The morning passes without a new message from UC. Yunho champs at the bit, going from his new project to editing the presentation to checking his emails. Changmin brings him lunch early, and Yunho eats without really tasting it. Donghae wanders in and out several times and they rewrite a section of the presentation. They call Henry in to listen to it and he says it’s awesome and cool.

Finally everyone clears out of the office and Yunho leans back in his chair and sighs. He’s all pumped up for the presentation, but it’s still hours away yet. When he’s in this mood it’s impossible for him to focus on the fine detail that the new game concept requires, so he puts it aside and looks at his laptop, praying that UC has sent him an email.

And there it is. 

_At 1.12pm exactly_ —Yunho loves the fact that UC is always so precise about time and yet always so untidy; it’s never on the hour or at forty-five minutes past, it’s always at some seemingly random time, which just makes it seem even more precise— _I want you to tell Secretary Shim that you don’t wish to be disturbed for half an hour. Then follow these links. The first is to a private IM chat. The second is a video conferencing site. These are the log-ins and numbers you need..._

Yunho reads through the instructions twice and then picks up his phone. “Changmin, can you hold all my calls and just generally make sure I’m not disturbed for the next half an hour?”

“Yes, sir.” There’s the clatter of a computer keyboard, and then Changmin riffles through the pages on the daily planner. “Sir,” he says, “just to remind you, Representative Nishiyama from NHK is scheduled to call you at 2pm.”

“Yes. Thank you.” Yunho had forgotten, even though he can see the bright yellow Post-It with Changmin’s careful handwriting telling him about the phone call. “I’ll be done by then. Thanks.”

“No problem, sir.” Changmin hangs up.

Yunho clicks on the links, logs in to the IM program, and arranges the chat box as requested to one side of the screen. Then the video conferencing program. He enters the telephone number—one that he doesn’t recognise at all, and with so many digits he’s sure it must be routed through eighteen different countries—and waits for it to connect. His stomach is a tight ball. His shoulders ache, a nagging low pain that stripes across his back. His right foot jogs up and down against the strut of his chair.

The program window opens. It’s black except for the little box in the bottom left hand corner, in which he can see himself. Yunho leans towards the eye of the webcam then backs away again when he sees his face loom into the smaller window. He waits for UC to appear in the larger window, but the screen stays dark. Maybe UC has blocked the webcam or hasn’t switched it on or something. Yunho’s disappointment is mingled with relief. He honestly doesn’t think he could cope with discovering UC’s identity today of all days.

A message pops up in the white IM box. _Don’t look so worried. I’m here._

Yunho types back: _I can’t see you._

 _But I can see you_ , UC responds. _Don’t use the IM. Talk to me._

“You’re wearing earphones?” Yunho asks aloud, feeling self-conscious at hearing his own voice. What a stupid question. Of course UC will be wearing earphones. Almost every employee at Mash-Up Monsters wears earphones for at least part of the day; he doesn’t mind if his staff listen to music while they work or if they take five minutes now and then to watch stuff online. It’s not like UC will be drawing attention to himself right now.

 _Yes_ , UC replies. _I will be the only person to hear you for the next half-hour. I will be the only person to see you, too. Relax._

“So...” Yunho fidgets in his chair, swings it to and fro in a tight arc, “you’re not going to record this, or—or broadcast it as a live stream on the company intranet or anything?”

A long pause, and then: _I hope you would know by now that I would never do anything like that. I am here to take care of you. To make you feel safe. You have given me your trust and I will never, ever abuse that gift._

Yunho feels dizzy and a little bit nauseous, as if he’s coming down with flu. He knows it’s tension. The knot between his shoulders is so tight now it’s sending pulses of pain up into the base of his skull. He must look sick or terrified or both, because a moment later another message pops up.

_Relax. Don’t think so much. Let me take care of you._

“Please,” Yunho whispers. “Tell me what to do.”

UC requests a few adjustments to the placement of the webcam, and Yunho spends a couple of minutes moving the laptop until UC is satisfied with the view.

“You don’t want, um...” Yunho gestures down at his lap, watching his image in the smaller window make the same movement a split-second later. He looks into the webcam’s eye. “You don’t want to see...?”

 _I long to see your beautiful thick cock_ , UC writes, _but not today. Soon I will touch and taste every inch of your body and make you mine, but not today. Because today, my gorgeous boy, I want to watch your face. I want to see your expression as you bring yourself off. You’re *so* responsive. So willing to share your emotions. Sometimes_

The flow of words stops there. Yunho sets both hands on the desk and leans forward. “Sometimes what?”

 _Sometimes you look at me and I can barely breathe because of what I see in your eyes_ , UC types. _You have no idea. There’s so much you need. So much I can give you._

Yunho feels bashful. It’s a funny sort of feeling. Old-fashioned, almost. He hardly ever gets shy, especially these days when Mash-Up Monsters relies on him being able to go out and sell every concept so it becomes a reality, and while he likes compliments as much as the next person, they’re something he accepts on behalf of his company and staff. Very rarely are those compliments about him as a person, and now he finds it really quite difficult to grasp what UC is saying. 

He re-reads the message. The bashful feeling nudges at him again. “You can barely breathe?” he asks, soft and wondering, glancing up at the webcam. Maybe it’s a bit naive, but he’d imagined that UC didn’t really think of him outside of the orders and instructions. Even when they’d done what they did in the stock room, Yunho thought UC was maybe turned on by the power of toying with his boss. He hadn’t thought there might be more to it. Not really. He hadn’t expected this to sound so... romantic.

 _You make me breathless_ , UC types. _I want to do the same to you. Will you let me?_

“Yes,” Yunho says.

_Unbutton your shirt all the way down. Leave it on, but open it so I can see you._

“Like this?” He does it, the buttons slipping free one after the other. He tries to do it in a sexy way, but his hands shake and three buttons pop open at once, and he’s embarrassed to be performing such a lame strip show. When it’s all undone, he turns the collar back and tucks the sides of his shirt behind him.

_Touch yourself. Stroke your chest. Tell me how it feels._

“Um.” Yunho touches his fingertips to his collarbones, then eases his hands lower and presses his palms to his chest. “Uh, it feels soft? Squishy, even. Sorry. I’m a bit—”

 _You’re beautiful_ , UC types, and Yunho feels a burst of delight. _Pinch your nipples. Make them all perky. Make them dark and tight for me._

Yunho groans. Does what he’s told. His cock springs up, terrifically interested in the proceedings and wanting attention all for itself. He squirms. Pinches his nipples again, gently this time. Goosebumps shiver over his skin. Everything feels very sensitive.

 _Harder_ , UC demands. _I want to hear you gasp._

Heat blazes through him. Yunho obeys. Moans. The sound seems very loud, seems to echo in the room. The embarrassment turns him on all the more. He imagines Changmin standing at the door listening. Oh God, that’s hot. His cock is leaking now, making a mess in his underwear. He wants to unzip and get a hand in there and help himself out, but he can’t until UC gives him permission. The waiting is a torment, a trembling, flurrying torment of anticipation.

_Tell me what you feel, what you’re thinking._

“I—I...” Yunho tweaks his nipples again, harder this time, and he jolts back in his seat. His tits burn, his dick throbbing in sympathy—or maybe it’s in jealousy. He uses the edge of his nails this time, scrapes them against the sensitive nubs and pretends UC is biting him. “I’m thinking of you. I feel all twisted up and hot. I can smell myself. My cock is really hard and—and...”

_You’re blushing. Why?_

Oh, oh shit this is difficult, he can’t do this. He squirms, pulls at his nipples again. The pain melts into a deep lick of pleasure. His hips lift and thrust, his cock rubbing against the zipper of his trousers. It’s hardly any kind of pressure and certainly not enough for him to come, but ohhh it feels so good. A heavy feeling spreads through his limbs, like he’s moving through tar.

_Talk to me, baby._

Yunho snaps his attention back to the laptop, blinking at the webcam. He can see himself in the little box at the bottom of the screen. Fuck, he looks wrecked already and he’s barely done anything. He watches the image of himself, watches his tongue dart out to lick his lips, and God, _God_ , he looks completely wanton.

_Talk to me._

He plucks at his tits again, as hard as he can stand it, and the pain makes him whimper, makes him jerk in his seat and spread his thighs and put his head back and moan. “I want you to come in here right now and fuck me. I want you to bite me and suck me and do whatever you want to me. I’m—I’m...”

Words fail him, sensation buzzing around and around. He thrashes on the seat, turns his head. He’s so hot, hair damp against his forehead, in his eyes. Yunho gasps, his breathing sharp and ragged. “Please. I’m so hard. My—” He pauses again, heartbeat racing, his blush deepening, and he forces out: “My hole is—it’s clenching and I want— Oh _fuck_ , everything is all tight and needy. I want you in me. Want you fucking me really hard.”

 _Oh yes_ , UC types. _My gorgeous boy._

Yunho slides lower in the chair. He feels drunk. “Please can I...”

_Take your cock out. Let me see you work it._

He can’t get his trousers undone fast enough, going at it with such haste he’s surprised he doesn’t rip the zipper right out. His dick curves up, free of his damp underwear, the stink of his arousal hot and feral. It goes to his head, the scent making him aware of every other sensation: the tickle of sweat down his back, the brush of cotton against his ribs, the warm, solid length of his cock in his hand. He’s wet, the slit dribbling pre-come, and he glosses his thumb through the moisture, the crown all tense and slick. Yunho twist-rolls his hand back down to the base, feels the brush of his pubic hair against his fingers. He adjusts his grip and begins to jerk off, fixing his gaze on the webcam so UC can watch him.

Pleasure and need hammer at him. Yunho drops into a rhythm and, after a moment, looks straight at the screen and asks, “D’you like me doing this?”

_Yes._

“D’you wish you were in here doing it to me?”

_yes_

“D’you want to make me come?”

 _y_

He laughs breathlessly, imagines UC wanking along with him, doing it secretively beneath his desk, maybe hiding behind a wall of box files, his breathing fast, his hand faster, gaze flicking between the screen and the office just in case someone was watching him watching Yunho. And ah God, that thought—it streaks through him, makes him judder and tremble.

“Oh yes,” he moans, his chair squeaking as he rocks and bucks into his hand, as he turns his head from side to side and bites his lip hard, hard. “Yes, yes—”

The phone rings, noisy and brutal and shattering everything. 

Yunho freezes mid-stroke, darts a startled glance at it, then looks back at the screen, wide-eyed and panting.

_Answer it._

“I can’t.” Alarm and frustration peel at the sexy little cocoon he and UC have created together. Yunho flicks a look at the time. Ten minutes before two o’clock. “I’ll—I’ll just ignore it.”

_Answer it. And don’t stop touching yourself._

Yunho stares into the eye of the webcam while the phone continues to shrill. “You want me to jerk off while I’m on the phone?”

 _I want you to reach orgasm while you’re on the phone_ , UC tells him. _Answer it._

Yunho dithers a second longer then grabs for the phone with his free hand, giving his cock a good squeeze at the same time. “Yes?”

“Sir.” Changmin sounds flustered, and it’s such a rare occurrence that Yunho has to bite back a groan, his cock swelling and desire coiling tighter and tighter as he listens to Changmin’s uncertainty. “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but Representative Nishiyama from NHK is on the line...”

Oh shit. He can’t take this call. He can’t. Panic just adds to the bubble of pleasure that’s expanding inside him. Yunho darts a glance at the screen, desperate for instruction.

 _It’s okay_ , UC writes, and Yunho stifles a moan because he can hear Changmin typing at the same time, he can hear Changmin asking if he should put the call through. _Focus on me_ , UC says, _and forget everything else. You can do it, my gorgeous, eager boy. You want to come, don’t you? Show me. Let me see you._

Yunho strokes himself, fast and frantic and feverish. Changmin is still talking, voice sharp with concern now, saying something about delaying the phone call and ringing back in five minutes. Yunho half lids his eyes, hot shivery prickles chasing over his skin, the palm of his hand slippery around the receiver, even more slippery than the one around his cock. He leans into the receiver, sinks into Changmin’s voice, rutting into his hand faster and faster, his breaths feathering and his heart pounding.

“Sir,” Changmin says. “Sir, are you... Do you need me to...”

Oh God, yes, yes he needs Changmin, needs him really fucking hard and fast. Yunho whimpers, squeezes his eyes shut tight and gives himself just one more pull, two more, quick quick, and he’s there, he’s coming, a massive slam of pleasure and a release of tension, and he gasps, “Changmin, oh, Changmin—” as he spurts all over himself, thick wet stripes of seed overflowing his fist, spattering his chest, soaking into his shirt.

He drops the phone and rides out his orgasm. Pleasure drips and slides, and he milks his cock for as long as he can, shuddering through the aftershocks. When it’s finished, when he’s a sweaty, ruffled mess, he looks at the laptop screen.

 _Oh_ , UC has written, _that’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen._

“Thank you,” Yunho says, his voice hoarse and whispery. “Thank you.”

The IM box closes. The line disconnects on the video conferencing program.

Yunho exhales, feeling limp and wasted. He picks up the phone receiver and listens to the annoyed blipping of the dial tone. With another sigh, he replaces the receiver in its cradle and swivels his chair to face away from the laptop. His pulse is still pounding. His brain feels like it turned to mush and dribbled out of his ears. He can’t think at all, so he gives up trying and just slouches in the seat and slowly, slowly, starts to come down from his high.

Five minutes later, he’s changing his clothes when the phone rings again.

“Sir, Representative Nishiyama from NHK is on the line,” Changmin says, a strange note of _did-I-hear-that-correctly-sir-did-you-really-just-come-while-I-was-talking-to-you_ in his voice. “Putting you through.”

* * *

The afternoon trots on. Yunho refuses to re-read the rewritten presentation. He can do this. He’ll be fine. Sure, this is a big investor and a successful deal would open up fresh avenues overseas, but if he and the investor aren’t a good fit, he can let it go. He’s not going to sell out and he’s not going to compromise his vision for Mash-Up Monsters.

He spends the rest of the day working on _Cambrian Explosion!_ and lays out concepts up to level twenty-seven. With less than an hour to go before the meeting takes place, he finds himself staring at Happy and wondering if a large-scale plankton attack would be preferable to a fight with a giant mollusc. He keeps yanking at his tie, then realises he’s tugged it into a skewed amoeba shape. Yunho mutters. This is why he doesn’t often wear ties to work. When he gets caught up in the creative process, he ends up pulling on the ends of the tie or chewing on it or something equally as daft. 

He grumbles, unfastens the tie and does it up again. It still looks messy. Yunho sighs, feeling his nerves begin to rise to the surface. He gets up and paces around the room, trying to burn off some of his anxious energy.

There’s a knock at the door and Changmin comes in. It’s the first time they’ve been in the same room since this morning. Unusually, his calm and composed secretary looks flushed. Yunho blushes along with him. Nothing like knowing your boss likes to have a sneaky wank at lunchtime and gets off to the sound of your voice on the phone. It gives Yunho a jittery feeling, but whereas a week or so ago he’d have been mortified, now he feels only a little bit embarrassed and a whole lot wicked.

Changmin holds out a couple of sheets of paper. “Sir, here are the most up-to-date figures you requested.”

“Thank you.” Yunho looks at them, memorising them, and mentally reworks his presentation around the numbers. Ugh, he’s feeling nervous again. He’s sure he never used to feel this tense. Maybe it’s because he’s been feeling less tense recently that now he feels it more. Or something like that. He fusses with his cufflinks, looks at the numbers again. “Do these figures take into account last month’s spike after the launch of the Wiwaxia magazine?”

“Yes, sir.” Changmin is looking at him with a thoughtful expression. “By the way, I like the Burgess Shale games, sir.”

That’s surprising. Yunho blinks, trying to imagine his oh-so-proper secretary playing _Hallucigenia Hoopla_ or _Yohoia vs Opabinia_. “You do?”

“Yes, sir.” Changmin comes closer and fixes Yunho’s tie, pulling down the untidy knot and straightening it before sliding it back up to nestle at his collar. “That’s better,” he says with a pleased little smile. “You need someone to take care of you.”

Yunho goes absolutely still. 

A second later, Changmin seems to realise what he just said, seems to realise that his hands are on Yunho’s chest. Colour ebbs from his face and his lips part. He takes an abrupt step back. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to be inappropriate. I just—” 

“You wanted me to look my best,” Yunho says, the words creaking out of him as if he was learning to speak again.

Changmin folds his hands in front of him. He looks calm, but there’s a flicker of wariness in his eyes. “Yes,” he says quietly. “I only ever want the best for you.”

They stare at each other. Yunho is trying to slot all of this together, trying not to hope too much, trying to work out if what Changmin just said was a sign or just pure coincidence. Oh God, it’s thrown him, really thrown him. He desperately wants to ask if Changmin is UC, but he’s also afraid that if he asks, Changmin might say no, and he wants Changmin to be UC so badly, and while UC is still anonymous, he can keep on pretending. But at the same time, if Changmin is UC, then maybe they can—they can...

“Sir,” Changmin says, tilting his head, big dark eyes showing concern. “You look pale. Would you like some water?”

“No. Thank you. I’m fine.” Fuck it, he has to know. Adrenalin boosts through him. Yunho reaches out, grabs Changmin’s wrist. “Changmin.”

Now it’s Changmin who goes still. “Sir?”

“Do you— I mean, are you—” 

The door opens and Donghae swings inside. “Bro, put Secretary Shim down and let’s go. We have to get to this super-important meeting in, like, twenty minutes and thirty-four seconds and the traffic is looking like shit.”

Yunho and Changmin pull away from one another as if burned. 

“Thanks for the figures,” Yunho says, shoving the pieces of paper on top of his presentation notes. He’s blushing so hard he might just melt.

“You’re welcome, sir.” Changmin flicks at his fringe, his cheeks a little pink. “I’ll just fetch my notebook and pen.”

Donghae grins at both of them and waggles his eyebrows. As they head for the lift, Yunho says in a low voice, “I wasn’t doing anything. It’s not what you think, okay?”

“Sure, dude.” Donghae gives him an indulgent look. “Like you haven’t been panting after him since day one. Surprised it took you this long, to be honest.”

Yunho scrunches his shoulders, on fire with embarrassment. “Really, it’s not what you think. I would never take advantage of an employee like that.”

“I’m not completely dense, bro.” Donghae grins and elbows Yunho in the ribs. “Even I can see that Changmin _totally_ has the whip hand in your relationship.”

* * *

 _Look in the bottom drawer of your desk_ , UC’s email says the next day. _I left a gift for you._

It’s lunchtime, and Yunho has finished eating and is sketching out level thirty-five of _Cambrian Explosion!_ When the message arrives, he puts down his notepad and opens the bottom drawer as instructed. There’s a bag tucked away at the back. He puts it on his desk, starts to take out the contents, then stuffs them back inside. That was not— He didn’t just touch... Yunho peeps inside the bag. Fuck. It is. He did. Oh God.

He closes the bag. A shiver wriggles up his spine. Taking a deep breath, he tells UC: _Thanks_ , and leaves it at that. A moment later, he opens the bag and looks again. 

A bottle of lube. A length of black satin. And a butt plug.

UC responds: _Touch the satin. Pick it up. Stroke it. Run it over your hands, hold it to your face. Tell me how it feels._

Yunho exhales but does as he’s told. It’s not a big deal. It’s just a bit of cloth. He lifts it from the bag and rubs it between his thumb and forefinger. The fabric is cool and slithery and makes a hushing sound as he coils it around one wrist then pulls it free. He wraps it around both hands and puts his nose to it, hoping to catch UC’s scent, but it doesn’t smell of very much at all.

 _It’s soft_ , he writes to UC. His fingers feel a little heavy on the keys. _It tickles. It feels good._

 _You’re my good boy_ , UC types. _Now pick up the butt plug._

Okay. Okay. Yunho puts down the satin and closes his hand around the toy. His face flames and his pulse stutters, but there’s curiosity mixed in with his embarrassment. He turns the butt plug around, tests its girth and flexibility. It’s simple and black, five inches long and made of silicone. He grips it tight, then lifts it and gives it an experimental sniff and then a lick before dropping it back onto the desk. 

UC doesn’t ask him how it feels this time. Instead he just writes: _I want you to put it inside you. Use as much lube as you think you’ll need, and then more. You’ll be wearing this for the rest of the day._

A squeak escapes him, and Yunho types: _The whole day???!?_

He can almost hear UC snort. _It’s 1.47pm now. Usually you leave work at 6.30pm._

Yunho tries to word a protest, then deletes everything he’s written.

 _I want you to wear it_ , UC continues. _Take it out when necessary and keep it nice and slick. Your body will start to absorb the lube so keeping it slippery will make things more comfortable for you._

There’s probably something clever he can say in response, but Yunho honestly can’t think of anything right now. It doesn’t help that his mind feels loose and unravelled, and little stripes of sensation are creeping through his shoulders and thrumming low down in his belly, in his balls.

Another message: _Tell me when it’s inside you._

Yunho curls both hands around the edge of his desk and gets to his feet. He waits there for a moment, leaning forward, staring at the butt plug. He knows it won’t hurt. It’s not about that. It’s about—it’s... 

He can’t think straight. Easier to follow UC’s suggestion. Order. Command. 

He sucks in a breath, unfastens his jeans, strips off his underwear. Stands in his office half naked. His jaw is locked, tension spiralling through him. Arousal stirs. God, UC has him on a fucking leash. He doesn’t want to disappoint UC. Doesn’t want to disappoint himself.

Yunho snaps open the cap on the bottle and squirts lube all over his fingers. Mindful of UC’s advice, he squeezes out a more than generous amount, then coats the silicone plug with it. Once the toy is nice and slick, he casts a glance at the unlocked door of his office and puts one foot up on his chair. Panic flutters through him, the idea of discovery making him hasty, clumsy. He almost drops the plug. Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes for a moment, then tries again.

It nudges against his hole, and he bears down on it, guides it in. A brief burn of resistance and then it’s inside him, a smooth glide with the lube wet and squelchy as he pushes it all the way home. He closes around it, muscles clenching and flexing, and his cock jumps, lurches upwards. Of course it does, traitorous thing.

He bends to put his clothes back on and the plug shifts inside him. Oh God, this is going to be a long afternoon. Yunho quivers, feeling way too sensitive as he dresses and tucks his dick into a comfortable position. He’s sweating, a fine sheen of perspiration at his forehead, on his top lip. He sits on the very edge of his chair and tries not to move too much when he types: _It’s in me._

 _How does it feel?_ UC asks.

Yunho types back: _It’s given me a hard-on._ He waits, expecting UC to say something filthy or to instruct him to walk around the main office with the plug up his ass and his cock stiff in his jeans, but there’s nothing for the longest time. Yunho wonders if UC logged off, but then a message arrives.

_Everything I do for you is a gift. Everything you give me in return is a gift. You have no idea how much I’ve appreciated every moment we’ve shared so far. But things can’t continue in this manner. This will be the last thing I ask of you. How we proceed—*if* we proceed—from here will very much depend upon your reactions this evening._

It sounds so serious. Yunho bites his lip, types: _What if I react the wrong way?_

 _There’s no right or wrong way_ , UC replies. _Let your instincts guide you._

That’s what he’s been doing all along. Yunho wiggles the mouse around the screen. He’s always let his instincts guide him, and everything’s turned out more or less the way he wanted. Except this time it’s not just about what he wants. He responds: _What about your instincts? Why can’t you guide me?_

Silence, and then: _What I want is immaterial. You need to take this step and make this decision on your own._

The faintest flicker of anxiety surfaces. Yunho reaches out and squeezes Happy’s tail before he writes: _Tell me what you want me to do._

Another pause, and then: _At 6.45pm, strip yourself naked and kneel on the floor in the middle of your office. Blindfold yourself with the length of black satin, then clasp your hands behind your back, left wrist held in your right hand. Then wait for me._

There’s a couple of paragraph returns, blank white space, and then UC has added: _Don’t reply to this._

Yunho stares at the email. He wants to reply, wants to ask what will happen if he doesn’t do as he’s told. What if he just sits at his desk fully clothed and waits for UC to reveal himself—what then? He wants to know, but he doesn’t dare ask, because he’s fairly sure the answer would be something along the lines of _I’ll tender my resignation in the morning_ and then he’ll have lost the best secretary he’s ever had.

Because yes, he’s almost sure it’s Changmin. Almost. Ninety-nine percent sure, but he could be wrong, horribly wrong, and he can’t risk losing everything. He just can’t. 

The afternoon passes as slowly as he expected. Every time Yunho starts to forget about the butt plug, he moves and gets a reminder. He takes it out once and lubes it up again, blushing at the mess he’s made of his underwear. It keeps him on the edge of arousal, but not enough that it interferes with his work if he pushes his focus past his body’s greedy desire for pleasure.

Several times he picks up the phone to call Changmin into his office, just to see if he can read his face, but he doesn’t do it. He calls Donghae instead, and they spend an hour talking over their plans for expansion. Donghae is going to the US next month to oversee developments with their latest investor, so there’s a lot to discuss; plus Yunho wants to go through the layouts for _Cambrian Explosion!_

Afternoon moves towards evening. Yunho stays in his office, watching the clock. UC hasn’t sent any more messages. At six fifteen, Donghae sticks his head around the door and says he’s off now and shall they go for a beer? Yunho makes an excuse, and Donghae shrugs and smiles and goes on his way.

Six thirty. 

Yunho takes off his jacket.

Six thirty-two. 

He kicks his shoes from his feet, peels off his socks. Gets up and walks around his office. He stands at the window and looks out at the stream of people on the concourse below, all of them going home. For a moment he feels disoriented and lost, and then he touches his fingertips to the glass and tightens his whole body and the plug moves inside him, bringing him back to himself.

Six thirty-eight.

Yunho takes off the rest of his clothes, tries to do it in a calm and unhurried manner. He even folds his trousers, though he just strews his shirt over the arm of the couch. Naked, he goes back to his desk and retrieves the strip of black satin from the bag. One last look at the time. 

Six forty-three.

He doesn’t know how he feels, his mind lifting and spinning as he moves to the centre of the room and kneels. He wraps the black satin over his eyes, knots it. Tests it to make sure it won’t slip free. Only then does he roll his shoulders back and thrust his chest out and put his hands behind him as instructed. 

He waits.

Time drags out. 

At first he tries to number the seconds and minutes, but he loses count. It makes him panic, makes him too aware of his nakedness, of his utter vulnerability. He remembers that the air con lowers in temperature after six o’clock and the room is getting colder. He remembers that the cleaning staff arrive at eight. Not that he thinks he’ll still be here by then, but the thought lodges in his head and he worries at it. The back of his thighs are pulling. His shoulders hurt. He feels ridiculous. He shouldn’t have agreed to do this. UC isn’t coming. UC has probably gone home like everyone else. 

In that awful moment, Yunho almost gives up. His pride kicks to the surface and he grits his teeth. He breaks his position, lifts his hands to the blindfold, then stops. The satin is warm and soft beneath his fingers, over his eyes. He breathes, strokes the satin, lets the whisper of the fabric soothe him. He can do this. He _wants_ to do this.

Yunho resumes his position. The room settles around him. He sinks. 

Two minutes—maybe ten minutes—later, the door opens. Closes. The lock clicks.

Relief floods through him, his limbs going weak before his pulse rate boosts and everything in him surges. He remains perfectly still and listens. If he’d been ninety-nine percent certain before, there’s absolutely no doubt now. None at all. UC closed the office door the same way Changmin does. He walks with the same gait as Changmin. And now he’s closer, Yunho recognises the cologne Changmin wears, sweet and sharp at the same time, a heady combination that lingers and warms.

UC—no, _Changmin_ —puts a hand to Yunho’s face and strokes him, touches his mouth, the curve of his cheek below the satin blindfold. Yunho nuzzles into Changmin’s hand, kisses his palm, and is rewarded with the sound of a soft breath. When Changmin rubs his thumb over Yunho’s lips, he opens his mouth and lets Changmin push inside just a little. Yunho licks at the thumb, nibbles it. Changmin’s breathing starts to roughen. Yunho can feel the tension in him, knows it’s an echo of his own heightened anticipation.

Changmin slides his thumb out of Yunho’s mouth and strokes a saliva-wet caress over Yunho’s cheek. There’s movement, and then Changmin seems to be crouching in front of him, touching him all over—shoulders, arms, chest—and then he moves again, delivers long, slow strokes over Yunho’s back. 

Yunho quivers, his breathing clipped, his skin prickling with awareness. He steps out of himself and imagines what Changmin can see. He hopes he looks good. No, he hopes he looks _amazing_. He wants to be amazing for Changmin. He bites his lip, feels the flame of embarrassment across his face, and his chin drops. 

Changmin puts a hand in his hair and gently corrects him, lifting his head again. Yunho shudders, yearning for more, aching for Changmin’s voice.

Another movement, the tickle of breath against his skin, and then Changmin licks a line between his shoulder blades. Yunho gasps, stiffens, arching from it even as his cock jerks and his balls tighten. Changmin kisses the back of his neck, runs a hand down his spine and touches his fingertips to the flared base of the butt plug.

Emotion swells, almost crushing Yunho. He has to say it. He can’t let this go on without acknowledging the man who’s doing this to him, who’s making him feel all these delicious, hungry sensations. He opens his mouth, licks his dry lips. “Changmin.”

Changmin doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. And then he gets up and steps away.

 _No!_

“Changmin,” Yunho says again, desperation pushing through the layering haze, abruptly bringing him to the surface. He can hear the longing in his voice. “Don’t go.”

Silence, then Changmin says, “I didn’t want you to be disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” The word rolls around his head, and Yunho can’t keep the incredulity from his tone. “Why would I be disappointed? I’ve been hoping— _wanting_ it to be you. All my fantasies were about you.” Yunho hopes that Changmin doesn’t think he’s babbling. “Even when I thought you were Donghae or Henry or Mrs Kang—”

“Mrs Kang?” Changmin sounds mystified. “ _Henry?_ You really thought...”

Yunho turns his head towards him. “I suspected everyone. I told you, I thought it was a joke at first, and then I realised it wasn’t, and when we started... this, when we began doing stuff—”

“When you started obeying me,” Changmin interrupts, voice soft and smoky.

A squirm of pleasure leaves Yunho breathless. “Yes. That. I—I started having all these Strict Changmin daydreams.”

“Really.”

Yunho nods. “They were so hot.”

Changmin makes a sound. “You were thinking about me and jerking off?”

“Yes. Until you told me I couldn’t.”

Movement, and then Changmin is in front of him, lifting Yunho’s chin. “I think you need to tell me about these daydreams.” 

Yunho obliges, telling him about the fur and feathers, the board meeting, the office window, and the chastisement over his desk. He doesn’t go into any detail, just bare statements, but even the stripped-down versions make him tense and dizzy with excitement, and he finishes with “Is that what you want to do to me?”

Changmin runs a finger down his cheek. “There’s a lot I want to do with you. There’s so much we can explore together, if that’s what you want.”

“I want. Oh yes, I want.” It blurts out of him, heartfelt, as Yunho leans into the continued caress. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”

A snort. “But you made me come and get you. That’s not fair. The boss is supposed to pursue his secretary, not the other way around.”

“I couldn’t take advantage of your position,” Yunho protests.

“Whereas I can,” Changmin says, voice rich with amusement, and without further warning he takes a step closer and rubs his crotch against Yunho’s face.

The fabric brushes over him, muffles him. Yunho pushes closer, finding heat and the scent of arousal and the lovely hard shape of Changmin’s dick. Pleasure jitters through him, and Yunho nuzzles at Changmin, nudges at his balls, licks the inseam, trying to taste him through the cloth.

“You’re so greedy,” Changmin says, and now he sounds stern. “I’ve wanted your mouth for months now. Wanted to kiss you. But first I think I’m going to fuck your face, and you’re going to kneel there and take it.”

There’s the sound of buttons undone, a zip unfastened, the shirr of fabric parting. The smell of musky heat ripens. Yunho’s mouth waters and he sways forward, eager for a taste.

Changmin puts a hand in Yunho’s hair, tightens his fist and yanks his head back. The pain is bright and sweet, and Yunho lets his mouth fall open on a startled little gasp. Changmin holds his cock to Yunho’s lips, rubs it back and forth, the smooth, slick crown just gliding over his mouth, and then he wipes a fine trail of pre-come over Yunho’s cheek. Yunho moans and turns his head after it, wanting, needing. He expects Changmin to shove his dick right in, but he doesn’t. He stands there, tight with tension, hand knotted in Yunho’s hair, and waits for Yunho to suck him.

Yunho extends his tongue, licks delicately. The taste of Changmin’s cock fills his senses, hot and salty-slick. He hears the choked sound Changmin makes and wants to hear it again. Dipping forward, he catches at Changmin’s pubic hair and tugs a little, then licks slurpy and loud up the length of Changmin’s shaft. He circles the head, makes it all wet. Then he wraps his lips around Changmin’s dick and draws him in. 

Changmin makes another sound, halfway between a huff and a groan. His hand presses against the back of Yunho’s head and he ramps forward, thrusting his cock in deeper. It’s firm and heavy on Yunho’s tongue, and then Changmin jerks forward again and Yunho’s gag reflex kicks in. He tries to squirm free, but Changmin holds him tight, says hoarsely, “Relax, baby, relax and breathe and take me,” and Yunho shivers at the note of command in Changmin’s voice, melts at the reassuring touch of Changmin’s fingers against his cheek.

Yunho breathes, opens up. Changmin goes slow, making him take more, and Yunho keeps on breathing, focuses on the taste and feel and warmth of Changmin’s cock. His thoughts unlatch. He sucks, works his mouth around Changmin’s dick, accepts it even when Changmin gets a little rougher. The world tilts, sliding away from him, leaving him in this mindless drift.

When Changmin pulls free, Yunho almost keels over. He gasps a protest, throat sore, tremors running through his entire body. His hole clenches around the butt plug, and his cock is so hard it’s painful.

“Good boy,” Changmin says. His voice is all coiled restraint. “Oh, my good boy.” His fingers work at the knot on the blindfold, and when the satin slips free, the fading evening light is a soft relief to Yunho’s dazed vision. He blinks, bewildered, jaw aching, and darts a glance upwards.

Changmin stands above him, cock glistening wet and curving free of his trousers, but it’s his face that draws Yunho’s attention, his eyes lit with calm certainty, with the knowledge that he’s absolutely in control, and Yunho is flattened by it.

“Stand up,” Changmin says. “Go to your desk.”

It takes Yunho a while to remember how to move his legs. Cramp runs white heat through his calves, stretching into the thudding build of arousal. He goes over to the desk and turns Happy away. He doesn’t want the Rhinopillar to witness anything too depraved. Wanking is okay; actual fucking—maybe not.

Changmin gives an amused snort. “Lean over. Hands flat in the centre of the desk. Wider apart. That’s it. Brace yourself. Do it properly... yes, like that. Hold still.”

Yunho gives an infinitesimal wriggle of his shoulders. He can’t rest across the desk like he did in his fantasy; no, he has to take his weight through his arms, and probably Changmin’s weight, too, and this is going to be difficult, it’s going to hurt in an achy, quivery way.

Stepping up close behind him, Changmin toys with the base of the butt plug, turning it by tiny increments so the silicone drags against sensitive flesh. Yunho clenches against it, streaks of pleasure going through him, deepening each time. He’s hyper-aware of every inch of his body, sensation fuzzing everything else and his cock drooling all over the desk.

“Tell me what you want,” Changmin says softly, so softly.

“Fuck me.” Yunho stares at his burgundy leather blotter and tries to enunciate. “Take that toy out of my ass and fill me with your cock.”

Changmin chuckles. “So specific. I like that.”

Another twist of the butt plug, swift and sudden, and Yunho jolts. He closes his eyes, grits his teeth, but can’t stop the long, quivering moan as Changmin slides the plug free. His arms ache. He has to do better than this.

Changmin sets the plug aside then circles Yunho’s stretched hole, murmuring approval as he fingers out some of the heat-thinned, slippery lube and spreads it around, smears it down to the inside of Yunho’s thighs. The slick little noises are humiliating, exciting; they sound dirty and desperate.

There’s a rustle and the snap of latex going on. Changmin takes his sweet time about it. Yunho squirms in protest and invitation, keeps on squirming to relieve the pressure in his arms and shoulders, and then Changmin slaps his ass, swift and hard and unexpected. It stings, a brief flash of fire. Yunho stills, then shoves back for more.

“Stop that,” Changmin says, digging his thumb into that tense muscle at the top of his ass, and Yunho freezes. “Next time,” Changmin says, stroking him, “next time, if you’re good, I’ll spank you. Or use a crop. I want to leave red stripes all over your ass and thighs and then make you go to a meeting with your flesh hot and stinging. Would you like that, baby?”

“Ngh,” Yunho says, with about as much coherency as he can manage.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Changmin says, and spreads himself over Yunho’s back. The extra weight rocks Yunho forward and he braces himself again, feels the tension ratchet across his shoulders. 

Changmin lines up and ruts on in. He goes slow, rocking in then pulling out on a long, shiver-inducing slide, then thrusting back in. The lube squelches. Yunho’s breath pants out of him. Changmin moves faster, plunging now, and Yunho quakes, his fingers curling on the desk. His palms are slippery. The strain through his arms and shoulders pushes at him, folding into arousal, and he’s shaking as if he’s cold, but he’s not cold, he’s hot, too hot, and Changmin is shafting into him fierce and fast and—and— 

Changmin moans in his ear. Yunho feels a distant flash of triumph. It’s short-lived. Changmin fucks into him good and deep and oh God yes, that’s intense. Yunho sways forward, tries to hold position. His elbows lock, and that’s a mistake. He tries to correct his position as Changmin thrusts again—ohh yes yes—and this time he almost falls, his arms trembling. Sensation swamps him, pulling at his senses, and he’s making noises he never knew he could make.

“Can you come, sir?” Changmin asks him, voice hoarse. “Can you come without touching yourself?”

Shit, _shit_ , it’s that word again, that beautiful misplaced ‘sir’. Ordinarily Yunho doesn’t think he could come without his hand around his cock, but he’s done it once before when Changmin had worked over his nipples with such gorgeous brutality, and he thinks he can do it again. Correction: he _knows_ he can do it again, because that’s what Changmin wants.

“Yes,” he gasps. “I can. I will.”

“Good boy,” Changmin tells him, and Yunho’s arms give out. They drop forward, but he catches himself, pushes back up. His shoulders hurt. His biceps burn. He wants to lie down and surrender everything, but that’s not even a possibility right now. His head is full of _sir_ and _good boy_ , the two appellations swinging and merging, and it drives him wild to know that he’s both master and mastered.

Changmin holds Yunho’s hips, grasps tight enough to bruise, then changes his stroke and shafts into him huge and steady. He grunts. It’s a filthy sound, urgent and demanding, not the kind of sound Secretary Shim would usually make. Yunho likes it, the sound going to his head. He makes a mewling noise in return and thrusts back, a twisting, coiling mixture of pleasure and pain closing in on him, blacking out his awareness until the only thing he knows is Changmin driving into him. 

“Oh God,” Changmin snarls, rough and fierce. “Come on, baby. Come on, sir.”

Yunho clasps around Changmin’s cock, shaking, his mind absolutely focused on one single sharp point, his body going rigid, and then he lets go, shuddering around a frantic moan of delight as he pumps out thick ribbons of come all over his desk.

A heartbeat later, Changmin empties into him, gasping.

Yunho collapses across the desk, smearing his spunk across the surface. He reaches for Happy and buries his face in the Rhinopillar’s plush body, mouth open and hot, shuddering breaths panting out of him as his head swings and swings and pleasure blasts shockwaves through him. 

Changmin folds over him, keeping him safe. 

They stay locked together for a long moment, and then, with a sigh, Changmin slides out of him. 

Yunho stays where he is, listening as Changmin ties off the condom and disposes of it. He stays spread across his desk, not caring that the edge is digging into his thighs and his blotter and some of his paperwork is ruined. Slowly, his heartbeat returns to a steady rhythm. He feels warm. Loved. Cared for.

He moves his head and stares at Happy’s beaming smile. It confuses him for a moment, and then he smiles back. 

“You can move now.” Changmin strokes him from shoulder to flank. “You did well. My gorgeous boy.”

Yunho lifts himself from the mess he’s made on his desk. “What,” he asks, voice husky and raw, “what now? What happens next?”

Changmin smiles. “Do you want more?”

“Yes,” Yunho says. “Oh, yes.”

Changmin waits, one eyebrow raised. He’s patient. So patient.

Realisation shivers through Yunho. He corrects his lapse. “Yes,” he says again, straightening with pride. “Yes please, _sir_.”


End file.
